


Nightmares

by sconesandtextingandmurder



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 05:49:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconesandtextingandmurder/pseuds/sconesandtextingandmurder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam had warned him before they’d left, pulled him aside and said, “You know he has nightmares, right?  Most of the time he’ll deny it, and there’s really nothing you can do, but you should know.”  Cas had nodded, packing this information away with the rest of the things he’d be taking on the hunt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightmares

Sam had warned him before they’d left, pulled him aside and said, “You know he has nightmares, right?  Most of the time he’ll deny it, and there’s really nothing you can do, but you should know.”  Cas had nodded, packing this information away with the rest of the things he’d be taking on the hunt.

 

When Cas heard him tossing and turning the first night, he merely placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder to wake him.  Dean woke swinging and Cas was rewarded for his concern with a punch to the face.  Eventually Dean was apologetic, but first he was pissed.

 

“What are you doing?  Don’t touch me when I’m sleeping.”

“You were having a bad dream.  I was trying to help.”

“Well, don’t.”

 

The second night, the flailing was accompanied by urgent muttered warnings to Sam.  Cas sat on the edge of his own bed, well out of striking range, and when Dean finally awoke it was because a strange rhythmic growl had infiltrated his dream.  He looked at Cas.

 

“What the fuck?”

“You seemed upset.  I was singing you an old Enochian lullaby.”

“Jesus, no wonder I had a nightmare.”

“Dean, the nightmare came fir-”

“Just back off.”

 

Over the next few days, Cas devised new methods to wake him when the nightmares began, ways that didn’t interfere with Dean’s stipulations.  Pleased with his ingenuity, he kicked Dean’s mattress as hard as he could on manufactured trips to the bathroom or slammed down the book he was reading onto the night table.  Once he even wet his fingers and flicked water from his glass onto Dean’s face.  When he was sure Dean was coming out of it, he’d turn his attention elsewhere, giving Dean time to chase the look of fear from his eyes.

 

“Bad dream?” he’d ask casually over the top of his book, once Dean had composed himself.

 

Cas knew none of these tricks would be enough the next night when the whimpering started.  The sound was so forlorn, so frightened and abandoned that Cas knew it required more from him.  Cas eased his way across the room to kneel next to Dean’s bed. Holding his breath, he laid his hand as lightly as a whisper on the top of Dean’s head. (The bruising had mostly faded from the first night’s encounter, but he wasn’t taking any chances.) When Dean didn’t startle awake, Cas ran his thumb in small circles on Dean’s sweat-dampened forehead.   The whimpering eased but each time Cas stopped, Dean made a small mewling sound, so Cas stayed until he dozed off and woke with Dean’s face pressed into his palm and his own shoulder aching.   When he tried to stand, he found both of his legs were asleep and he crawled back to his own bed.

 

On the worst night, Cas woke with Dean’s panicked voice ringing in his ears.  Maybe Cas could have prevented it if he hadn’t been so exhausted from his fragmented sleep the night before and he cursed himself for this lapse. Dean’s bed was empty and for a split second Cas thought he was gone until he spotted him crouching in the corner between the bed and the wall.  Cas approached him slowly, the way you would an injured animal. Dean’s eyes were open, pupils wide, but it was clear he was still asleep, caught in the throes of this night terror.

 

“Cas.  Cas!” Dean’s voice was desperate, nearly on the verge of tears.  Cas knelt down beside him.

 

“Dean, I’m here,” he said softly, but Dean looked right through him and called his name again.

 

Cas waited until Dean quieted and his breathing evened out before he risked touching his arm.   

 

 “Let’s get you back to bed.”  Cas helped him to his feet.

 

Dean complied wordlessly, letting Cas guide him and tuck the covers around him.  Just as Cas turned to go, Dean sat up and grabbed his arm.

 

“I thought you were gone, Cas.  I thought I’d lost you.”  He had Cas by the front of the shirt.  “Promise me you won’t do that again.  Promise me you won’t go.”  Dean’s eyes were still unfocused, but his grip and his tone were insistent and he wouldn’t relax until Cas lay beside him saying, “I’m here” and “I promise” as Dean buried his face in Cas’ neck repeating over and over again “Don’t go.” 

 

In the gray light of early morning, Cas woke to find that Dean had put an ocean of distance between them in the bed.  All Dean said was, “What the hell, man?”

 

Cas saw there was no memory of the night before in Dean’s eyes, no recognition of the desperation he’d displayed or the reassurances he’d required.  He stared at Dean for a moment then said, “I had a bad dream.”

 

Dean stared at the ceiling and nodded, knowingly.  “Did you, uh, want to talk about it?”

 

“That won’t be necessary” and Dean nodded again, this time in relief.  Cas pulled back the covers and got out of bed.

 

“I’ll just go back—“

 

“Yeah, ok,” said Dean.

 

They lay awake and silent in their own beds until the sun was fully up. 

 

 *******

Castiel is falling.  He spins in the air alone and defenseless watching his brothers and sisters scream down to earth around him.  Some call to him for help, some curse his name, but all he can do is helplessly and endlessly fall.  He feels a raw pain in his throat but whether it’s from the incision that took his grace or the screams caught in his chest, he can’t tell.   A cold wind shrieks and freezes him but he knows better than to hope for help, so he prays to slam into the ground, anything to stop this terrifying descent. 

 

Cas hears his name, steady as a promise, and it’s enough to halt the dizzying falling but his relief is short-lived because he can’t catch his breath and he’s flailing at whatever is constricting him.   Slowly, the room reforms around him and he realizes Dean is holding him tight, not even flinching when Cas claws at him.  Cas hears the ragged gasps of his own breath, feels his pounding heart and the steadiness of Dean’s presence beside him.   Now that he’s stopped fighting, Dean loosens his grip and Cas curls on his side away from him embarrassed by this outburst, this show of weakness, and the scratches he’s left on Dean’s arms.  He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and tries to make himself small as he waits for the mattress to shift and a rush of cold air to take Dean’s place.   Instead Dean turns and molds against him, his chest to Cas’ back and starts to hum.  Later Cas will learn the song is Hey, Jude and he’ll never be able to hear it without feeling Dean’s arm loosely around his waist, his cheek pressed into his shoulder.


End file.
